


Intrusive Kisses

by I_AM_KING_DAD



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Nonconsensual Kisses, just a little drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7434672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_AM_KING_DAD/pseuds/I_AM_KING_DAD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ford receives an unwelcome visitor who initially mistakes him for someone else. Shenanigans occur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intrusive Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at the request of one of my followers on tumblr. First time writing Ford, ah jeez. x_x

The first time it happened it was a harrowing experience. It was late into the night - well, technically early in the morning - and Stanford Pines found himself working just as feverishly as he did during the day. Once again his mind was trapped into anomalies and cryptids. So focused was Ford that he neglected to hear a hallowed, warped sound and stumbling footsteps in the kitchen above. It was only until he heard the unctuous, grating call behind him.

“Staaan-URP-leeey,” a tall figure emerged from the darkness-why did he leave the doors open? Ford never recalled there being a homeless problem in Gravity Falls before he left. What thirty years and an economic recession could do to a town...It then occurred to him that this initially-seeming transient had called out a specific name. His brother’s name. 

“Excuse me?” he sat up, and turned to look at the intruder now emerging into the light. He wasn’t familiar to Ford at all. Lanky, and although dressed like a scientist, Stanford doubted this man was. Slumped over to the side a bit, he held in his hand a flask he would occasionally sip from until he realized it was empty. There were so many questions tied to this man’s identity that in his attempt to calculate what course of action to participate in, the man was already standing before him.

“W-What’s happenin’ - what’s - what’s goin’ on, buddy, ol’ Stanley -urp- ol’ pal?” the strange now had his arms loosely wrapped around Ford’s shoulders. Upon closer inspection, the man had been intoxicated for a while and, no, please don’t let that be vomit flecked on his chin. 

“Unhand me!” or, “You must be mistaken!” would have been one of Stanford’s many replies buzzing in his brain, but the question from the man must have been deemed rhetorical. Uncomfortably wet lips pressed themselves firmly to his. This was in a matter of moments, and the contact was entirely foreign to him-well, it might as well have been. He was able to shove the persistent aggressor to the floor.

Without another word, Ford picked him up by the collar, and attempted in vain to drag him to the stairs. He was wiry and fighty, growling curses and swinging fists, “STANLEY!” Stanford shouted from the top of his lungs. It probably wasn’t enough to wake his big lug-of-a-brother up from a deep slumber at 3:30 in the morning. After a considerable amount of struggle, Ford clocked the bastard hard enough to knock him out. It was easier to just sling him over his shoulder after that. 

Stanley, as predicted, was fast asleep when Ford kicked the door open violently, barking his name again, “Stanley!” he threw their visitor on the ground in front of them. Stan awoke with a start, and after grabbing his teeth and glasses from the nightstand peered in the darkness, “Jesus, Sixer, ever heard of sleep? It’s what we normal people need to function-”

“Yes, of course now is the time to criticize my work that allows us to go on adventures. Clearly the intruder in our house that knows your name and assaulted me in my own quarters is of no concern.”

The intruder in question rolled onto his side, stirring. Stan immediately recognized the blue-haired fellow, and in initial surprise, blurted, “Rick Sanchez!” Rick grunted flatly at the mention of his name. Stan’s initial joy of seeing him was quickly quelled, “He ‘assaulted’ you?” an eyebrow raised, fingers accentuating his disbelief that such a drunken man could harm anyone.

“Well, in a sense, yes!” he furrowed his brow, a six-fingered hand planting itself on the back of his neck, rubbing nervously, “With his lips! You let this maniac kiss you, Stanley?”

Slapping his knee and bursting out in guffaws, Stan caught a glimpse of Ford’s serious expression and coughed, “Eh - well, usually I hose him off in the backyard before I let him inside.”

“What did you say this man’s name was?” Ford didn’t quite hear him.

“Rick Sanchez.”

The name rung a bell. A horrific, gut-twisting bell. Oh he knew who Rick Sanchez was. Interestingly enough, he never saw a face to the disgusting stories he heard about him. Meanwhile, his own face was plastered across dimensions, yet people rarely remembered his name. This was not a person he wanted in his house, especially near his brother. It occurred to Stanford that the benign attitude his brother had toward this criminal would make everything infinitely more difficult. It would be no surprise that Stan knew exactly what he did, “Just make it brief, and keep him away from me,” he disappeared out of the room, waving a hand at Stan. 

He didn’t hear a peep from Rick or Stan the following day, and later in the afternoon, Rick had simply disappeared. Ford was all too happy to forget the incident happened; days afterward, Stan still had a smirk on his face. Not much had happened since then, and a couple of weeks later, he had completely forgotten about his brother’s questionable friend. That is, until a similar incident happened in the rare instance he was making breakfast in the kitchen. Although less jarred, he was more irate with Stanley for not controlling him than Rick for doing it in the first place. (Ford did question Rick’s credentials as a scientist, but that was a fight for another day.)

Stanford found himself subjected to these surprise meetings with Rick over the period of a couple of months before it stopped. Every security measure Ford could think of without coming across as a lunatic (again) seemed to fail. Simply put, Ford got rid of his portal, and Rick had one he kept in his pocket. Stan and Rick seemed to have some kind of bet where the drunkard at his most plastered found Ford in vulnerable situations, or when he was concentrating his most. Each instance became more hilarious to them, their big joke on him. Somewhere along the line, Ford didn’t know when, he became complicit in the game, almost expecting it. Eventually, the joke ceased - Stan noticed his brother becoming more paranoid, more irritated. He kindly asked Rick to stop, and soon enough the visits were tame and calm. That is - much to the dismay to Stanford, who felt a slight twinge in his stomach every visit.


End file.
